Vital, self-confident, a trifle foreign, certainly distinguished,
at first there might have seemed a trace of defiance in the
carriage, even in the glance of Josephine St. Auban. But a second
look into the wide dark eyes would have found there rather a trace
of pathos, bordering upon melancholy; and the lines of the mouth,
strongly curved, would in all likelihood have gained that sympathy
demanded by the eyes, betokening a nature warm and noble, not petty
or mean, and certainly not insignificant.
Such was the woman of the hour in Washington, lately frowned on by
the ladies as too beautiful, talked about by the gentlemen as too
cold, discussed by some, adored by others, understood by none,
dreaded by some high in power, plotted against by others yet more
high in place.
She cast a hurried glance now at the clock which, tall and solemn,
stood near by in the hall. It was upon the stroke of midnight
only. Turning half questioningly to her maid, she heard a
footfall.
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